When She Forgets Me
by alixxblack
Summary: Hermione is taking Rose and Hugo to see Grandma Granger one last time before she has to move. Only, Rose just won't stop asking questions and obsessive over her tea set.


_Disclaimer: I'm trying to claim this for fame or fortune because that violates copyright law and I ain't about that – having a legal & business degree and all._

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 **Read & Enjoy**

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Today we're taking a cab from the Leaky Cauldron to visit my mother. Flooing, apparating, or using a portkey did not seem very appealing while carting two children alongside me. This will be the last time that we see her in my childhood home. Rose is tugging on hem of my cotton sundress. For some unknown reason, the weather has been bizarrely hot this summer. While I do not like to envision it, I know my mother is probably planted firmly on her rear in the kitchen staring outside. The humidity traps her indoors, which is both saddening and comforting. At least she'll be sipping her favorite tea from one of the only remaining Granger family heirlooms.

"Mummy, why didn't daddy come today?" As one might expect, Rose asks a ton of questions. Not only do children often ask questions, but she's my daughter too. Curiosity breeds inside her mind without any prompting. Ron sometimes complains that we are _too_ similar. I knew before she was born that kids do this at ages six and seven; they just keep asking all sorts of things to learn about the world and the people around them. I still remember too well how often Victoire and Teddy used to try to send owls with questions in handwriting I couldn't read. I was always happy to answer their questions because knowledge is the greatest weapon any person can have at their disposal.

Feeling myself getting caught up in my thoughts, I let my gaze fall over Hugo. He is napping against my shoulder. An inaudible sigh parts my lips. Rose is still waiting for an answer to her question. The image of the stag Patronus galloping through our window flashes through my mind.

Seeing Rose's bright, lively eyes when I twist my head back to her, it gives me strength that I've forgotten I have when I'm visiting my mother. Though it's been years since my father passed away, the difficulty of his absence is unbearable at times. I don't know what to do with the silence when I go through the front door. Without hearing him tapping away on the piano, groaning about his dodgy fingers riddled with Arthritis, sometimes it doesn't feel like _my_ home anymore.

Of course, my suffering didn't end there.

"Daddy and Uncle Harry were called into work today. The Ministry needed them both for a raid in Wales." I've found that giving her some details usually turns off her curiosity, or at least dials it down. Normally I would talk with her for hours but I already feel my throat getting scratchy from hiding how truly sad to be making this trip. When the cab jerks to a stop I give her a goofy, toothy grin. "Are you ready to see Grandma Granger today? I bet she'll love seeing you!"

 _If she remembers your name,_ I think to myself.

My left hand reaches around to brush her cheek with encouragement. Rose is soon bouncing as she opens the cab door so loudly it causes Hugo to stir. I can trust Rose to get him to the porch. For five years old, he listens far better than I thought he would. Especially given the undeniable resemblance he has to his father. Really, both of my children have the best traits of Ron and I. There is no amount of gratitude that accurately reflects how thankful I am for them.

I pay the cabbie using Muggle money and slink out behind the children with my messenger bag smacking my hip. For a moment, I appreciate that I no longer must carry two separate bags for the children. When they were still babies I kept a bag for myself, a bag for Rose, and a bag for Hugo – just so that I didn't have to rummage around searching for everyone's personal belongings inside of one bag. I worried that becoming a mom would make me less organized, but it's only enhanced the practice. I think it drives Ron completely mad.

Rose knocks on the door before I make it to the front steps but there's no complaining about it. My mother honestly _should've_ been waiting for us. I sent an owl yesterday letting her know that we were coming, as well as another owl this morning when I woke. Her memory comes and goes, and I never know if it'll be a good day or a bad day when I come for her. Some nights, when I'm really worried, I'll apparate around after I put the children to bed because I cannot stand the thought of her sitting in this big house on her own. What if she forgets that this is her home?

The door opens and I see that she's wearing her 'nice' slacks. Usually when she's wearing those it's a bad day because she's woken up to go to work at the office. When she stepped down as a dentist she became the office manager, and she wore the same style of slacks every day in a different color with a plain white blouse. Today she looks exactly like that, only with a sleeveless top instead of her usual Oxford. My heart sinks as my kids are jumping up and down begging Grandma if she'll listen to them on the piano.

I see the smile in her eyes, and she's trying hard to remember whether or not she's ever let them play the piano before, but when she sees me nod she asks them to go have their snack in the kitchen first. Immediately, I figure that they'll forget all about it by the time they're done eating. I watch them waddle off in excitement, reflecting on how the Granger kitchens _always_ have a snack at the ready. Maybe Ron somehow knew this about my family? Perhaps it's what drew him to me in the first place. Obviously such thoughts are ridiculous, so I laugh to myself before following behind everyone else with significant delay.

I set my bag on the ottoman next to the couch in the living room, and then double back to lock the door behind me. I can hear Rose purposely clanging the dishes laid out for her very loudly. I cringe at the sound. After attending Luna's wedding with the kids, whom she insisted were very much welcome because there would be plenty of fun activities (and there were, of course, but they were as odd as her wedding dress), Rose now feels inclined to make speeches at every opportunity. If there was something glass and somebody to listen - she gives a toast.

I listen from afar as I step into my mother's office to check for late bills. While in there, I make sure that she is taking her pills too. I have a checklist on her bedside table, and maybe also in both of her bathrooms. Perhaps I've charmed a copy onto her refrigerator door as well. It might seem a bit over the top but sometimes she just _forgets_ – sometimes the instant she blinks!

 _"And I want to thank Grandma Granger, who always has tea ready when we come to visit, even though Mum won't let us drink it!"_

For _obvious_ health reasons, I've been keeping Rose and Hugo away from tea. They don't need the caffeine or sugar at this age. The recipe my mum prefers to drink has a plenty of _both_ , which always made me smile that her guilty pleasure was something that she always had to discourage at work. Regardless of how endearing it is to see my mum break her own professional rules, I simply won't make an exception on the matter for the kids. Aside from the dependency they could develop, their teeth might get stained too. And as the daughter of a dentist, albeit a devious one, I simply cannot allow it.

Although, recently I've learned that Daddy lets them have a glass when I'm working late at the Ministry. He tells me that they want to stay up late enough to see me when I get home from work, which obviously makes me feel awful for wanting to have a successful career. In the same train of thought, though, I know I cannot blame him for the sentiment. I understand where his actions are coming from and I find that I don't sleep a wink when he has to work overnight. Being without one another as parents is a lot like being naked in a crowd: _exposed and nervous._

Once I am satisfied with what I find in the office, I head back around to the kitchen. I see Rose standing on her chair. Without thinking, I just snap my fingers at her so that she'll stop her clinking. I can't stop to tell her the sound is irritating because I am chasing Hugo. He is about to pull the cloth off of the full dining table, which is covered with dozens of decorative dishes that I swear could break if someone breathed funny near them. I call after him, "Be careful of those dishes, sweetheart. They've been in the Granger family for decades!"

"Just like the tea set, huh? The one that always has tea!" Rose squeals in delight. She's bouncing up and down behind me as I redirect Hugo's focus to the play former set up with trucks and trains. He pretends, sometimes, that Hogwarts is a place for talking vehicles that have to unlock their magical powers. Once I tell him that the hero needs to go off to Care of Magical Creatures on the terrace, he toddles off with Jalopy Joe. The beaten up sedan is an old toy car I found in one of Ron's drawers at the Burrow when we packed his stuff to move out. I don't know why I kept it, at least not until Hugo was born.

"Why does it always have tea, Grandma Granger?" my inquisitive little girl asks, and I only just barely overhear her as I walk to the backdoor to keep an eye on Hugo. I try not to barge in on Rose's conversations with my mother because I know that soon she won't have these private moments anymore. Once we go home it's a waiting game. The instant that Ron comes through the front door, I'll return to pack my mother's necessities. Tomorrow she'll have to move somewhere that she can be watched after all day by qualified staff.

 _Properly trained staff_ , I think clearly to myself. I know I am neither of those things and that I'm not capable of continuing to care for her and my children simultaneously. Nobody wants to have to choose between those options. Worse still is that she cannot live with us for more than one reason. Failing memory, no telephones, magic at every turn; I cannot expect to successfully tend to her medical needs when I'm only home a few hours before and after work. It is not fair to her.

Making this choice has been the hardest in my life. Sometimes I think about this situation in comparison to when I had to erase myself from their memories. Losing my parents to protect them was difficult but I think I always knew I could find them if I tried hard enough. Now, in my age and my education, I sometimes find myself crying in a corner. Occasionally a thought occurs to me: what if the memory charm I used is the reason for this? Did my magic damage her brain so badly that she developed this illness that makes her forget permanently? Is this my fault? A tear defies silent orders to remain unseen, and it drips down my cheek with an intense heat forces me to acknowledge that I'm crying. Quickly I wipe the tears away with the underside of my wrist.

"I actually can't remember a time that it didn't have tea," my mum mumbles. Her voice is about as frail as her body and mind, but there's a velvety undertone that just makes her sound so sweet. My chest tightens under the weight of the familiarity. I sometimes can see glimpses of my mum, when she was younger, in this elderly woman masquerading in her home. It is her - but it isn't, either. I tuck my chin into my chest and watch with my peripheral vision as Hugo sits at the edge of the poorly tended garden. Apparently Care of Magical Creatures was cancelled, so Jalopy Joe went to Herbology early to talk to Professor Longbottom. When he comes around, that's all he hears Teddy call him and now Hugo thinks that it is his proper name. Hugo wants, more than anything, to go to school and learn from all the 'cool' teachers like Professor Longbottom. I can't help but think Teddy might've convinced him that all of the teachers like to make jokes and bring treats to class to share with the students.

For a second I smile, until my mind betrays me and returns to the conversation behind me, "Is it magic?"

"Magic isn't real, darling."

 _It's a bad day,_ I confirm once more to myself, _and this is going to be how Rose remembers her._

Hugo trips in front of me and I wait to see if he cries. It took a lot of practice and determination not to always race over to him the way I did when Rose was the same age. But he gets up and looks at me, as if he knows, but he flashes a smile to contradict my fears. I think he asks me to get the play broom from my bag. I remind him that Muggles might see him and that he'll have to wait until we get back home. Hugo pouts for a moment and then says that it's fine. He'll just 'commute' the Quidditch game, "Commentate, Hugo."

Correcting my children when they're wrong probably isn't everyone's favorite thing about me, but I'd rather them use the right language than to learn later that they've been wrong their whole lives. Rose doesn't mind, and Hugo doesn't either. I think Ron and Harry get more of a ruffle when I do it to them. Ginny always jokes that they're jealous that I couldn't make them smarter. Of course, both men are brilliant in their respective ways. Hugo and Rose will be too.

"Where did you get the tea set?" Rose inquires, something in her voice hiding the confusion over Grandma's comment about magic. Rose doesn't really know what is happening, not properly, but Grandma used to know magic was real. She always asked me to do little things for her with magic when I came around for a visit with the kids. Rose remembers those times and so if Grandma says that magic isn't real, she must be deciding if my mum trying to make a joke.

Only it's _not_ a joke – and that's worse than if it was…

My mum is contemplating the answer, probably not deeply, but she does come up with an answer far more detailed that I was expecting. "This is your Great Grandmother's tea set – Great Grandma Granger! I know you don't remember your Grandpa Granger, sweetie, but his mum made him tea in this set every morning when he was your age - "

"Does my mum know that?" Rose interrupts.

" – This is your Great Grandmother's tea set."

I hear the reset in her pause before it reflects in her voice. Quickly, I call for Hugo to come play by the sliding door. Rose is about to witness something that she's never seen before and I refuse leave her alone for something this serious. By the time I'm in the room, at her side, my mum is already repeating herself. "Great Grandma Granger! I know you don't remember your Grandpa Granger, sweetie, but his mum made him tea in this set every morning when he was your age - "

"Rose, can you come play with Hugo so I can help Gran with her chores?" I use a tone of voice that I generally reserve for when I need her to be a big girl. She turns to me with knit brows but her only response is a curt nod. I kiss her forehead as she is leaving and then approach my mum.

Pain etches into every wrinkle and fold on her face. Awareness seems to settle in her eyes and she begins to cry softly. "Was I just talking to Rose, my dear?"

"Yes, mum, but it's okay. Don't you worry about that because she'll forget once she gets playing. Right?" My hands on her shoulders, tears burning my eyes in perfect sync with her. Standing there in the silence, the severity of her disease is blatantly obvious to both of us. It progressed so quickly that I can still remember a few months ago when she was able to walk me around town and tell me all these embarrassing stories from when I was Rose's age. It's unfair. I lean in to hug her and ask her to bring me the laundry. So that she's occupied with something.

Once I see that she's made it into her bedroom I use my magic to quickly get the dishes put away while having a broom move speedily over the tiled floors. Before she ever makes it back, the kitchen and dining room are both spotless. When she scoots the basket to the living room I thank her for getting it that far. I suggest that she go check on the kids while I get everything loaded in to the machines.

My time is limited, so I have to do all of the cleaning when she's not looking. At the same time, I cannot leave her with the children for too long either. The bouts of clarity are become briefer with each passing day, and they're fewer and farther between too. A few weeks ago she'd forgotten that I had as little boy and left Hugo playing outside in the rain while I ran into town to pay some of her bills. The cold he caught was minor enough for me to make a draught to heal him right up, but for it to have happened at all put her illness into perspective for me. _That_ is when I decided to put her in a Muggle nursing home.

Periodically between chores, I call upon my mum to talk to me while I do something by hand, as Rose and Hugo can sometimes play on their own without me worrying too much. When I call the kids back inside to get something to drink, Rose ends up tugging on my pinky finger while I sip on some of my own tea.

"Mum," she starts, "Why does Gran forget things a lot?"

I choke on my drink and nearly drop it to the floor. My mum's awareness faded from my earlier conversation with her, and I hear her groan as if she disapproves the question. She says she needs to use the bathroom and then disappears. Rose yanks down on my finger, and hard this time, and asks her question again. "Why does she forget, Mum?"

This is a moment I was hoping would never come, though I've always known it would. Last summer when my mum invited me to her doctor's appointment and they told me the diagnosis – I _knew_ this would eventually arrive. I tried to will it away but I've known that those efforts were futile.

"Grandma Granger has a disease," I whisper. Rose looks at me very seriously, more so than any seven-year-old should be capable of, and then she comforts me with a squeeze of her hand around my loose fingers. She has so much power in her, not just magically but physically. It must be all the roughhousing she does with James and Albus. Weakness cripples me, and even though I didn't want to be crying in front of my daughter – I am.

But I know that is time to tell her the truth, "She has a disease in her brain and it makes her thoughts fuzzy. Sometimes it gets so fuzzy that she forgets important things."

Rose nods. The thought doesn't seem unfathomable to her, even though I think it should be, and as she considers it her eyes shift from me to the hallway. Most likely, she's watching for Grandma Granger, to see when she comes back.

"Is that why there's always tea in Great Grandma Granger's tea set? Because Gran forgets sometimes that she has to make the tea?" A garbled laugh bursts past my gritted teeth. Whether she asks this on purpose, I don't care to speculate, but it gives me a bit of relief. Kids are always looking for answers to trivial things. For as grown up as she's trying to be, she's just a child, and I'll inevitably cherish this moment.

"Yes, Rose," I sigh to catch a breath before finishing, "that's why I charmed it. Gran likes her tea, doesn't she?"

"So will you let me drink some? While Gran remembers me?"

In one fell blow, all of the cheery feelings I'd recovered are being punched from me again. I know that Rose means well. The worst part is that I can't even blame her for wanting this with her grandmother. After today, it's likely Rose will only see her on Holidays. I have nightmares about Hugo never being able to remember who she is…

"Just this once, right?" I agree.

Rose kisses my cheek in excitement, but before she goes she says she has two more questions for me – exactly two. Since this is pretty well the usual for her, I just wait for her to keep talking. "First, does Grandma have wrackspurts? Luna said that wrackspurts make the brain fuzzy. She also said happy memories make them go away. Can we fix Gran by showing her old photographs like when Teddy is sad?"

"No." I say flatly. I hear a creaking that tells me that my Mum is on her way back out. So I explain as simply and quickly as possible. "Grandma Granger has Muggle disease called Alzheimer's. There is no cure for it but we can still take care of her and make her very happy."

Something about her bobbling tells me that she agrees, with at least some level of understanding, but she cycles right back to the one thing she's always never stops talking about: the tea set. I feel the pink in my cheeks when she near shouts her second question at me. "So will I get to have the tea set when Gran forgets that she has it? When she forgets me, then I can at least remember her when I get a cuppa!"

Then, just for a moment, everything in the world aligns. As I'm about to raise my voice at Rose for being indelicate and insensitive, I feel my Mum place her hand over my shoulder. "Of course, Rose. Perhaps your Mum will take a few more breaks from work if she had a cup of tea waiting for her at the dinner table every night."

"Oh, that would be lovely! Daddy gets sad at night when it's time for bed, you see, so he probably needs some tea too!" Mum breaks away from me to hold Rose's hand as they walk back to the kitchen. I stay behind to catch my breath. I'm leaning against the nearest wall trying to control the whirlwind of emotions I'm feeling.

 _At least this is how she'll remember her,_ I decide before I join them in the kitchen to just relax over tea and biscuits.


End file.
